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DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS. 


FOR  YOUNG  LADIKS. 


BY 


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DOROTHY  REYNARTZ. 


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arrangements  must  be  made  with  the  publisher. 


JOSEPH  F.  WAGNER,  (Inc.) 

NEW  YORK. 


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TWO  MOTHERS. 

\ 

s 

DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS. 

•  FOR  YOUNG  LADIES. 

BY 

DOROTHY  REYNARTZ. 


Price  25  Cents. 


^  The  purchase  of  this  plap  includes  permission  for  perform¬ 
ance  bp  amateurs;  for  performance  on  the  professional  stage 
arrangements  must  be  madedvith  the  publisher. 

4k 


JOSEPH  F.  WAGNER,  (Inc.) 

NEW  YORK. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


j  CHARACTERS. 

1  THE  BLESSED  VIRGIN. 

<  ,  TWO  ANGELS. 

]  ; .  f''* ,  HILDEGARD,  Widowed  Countess  of  Tannberg. 

1  •  ADELHEID,  Her  Daughter, 

f  ,  ELIZABETH,  Hildegard’s  Sister. 

I  MARGARET,  Wife  of  the  Bailiff  of  the  Castle. 

]  BERTHA,  Margaret’s  Daughter  and  Adelheid’s  Friend. 

CHRISTINA,  I  Young  Girls  Serving  in  the  Castle  Tann- 
/  AGNES,  S  berg. 

’  SIX  OR  EIGHT  YOUNG  GIRLS,  Maids  in  the  Castle. 

THE  QUEEN  OF  TUNIS. 

TWO  OF  HER  COURT  LADIES. 

r 


ACT  I.  The  Castle  of  Tannberg. 

ACT  H.  The  Woods  of  Tannberg. 

ACT  III.  Tunis. 

ACT  IV.  The  Woods  of  Tannberg. 

Between  Act  I.  and  H.  a  period  of  three  months  has 
elapsed. 


Act  L 

The  scene  represents  a  room  in  the  Castle  Tannberg.  A 
door  in  the  middle.  A  center-table,  some  chairs.  To  the 
left,  in  the  back  of  the  room,  a  small  table ;  on  it,  either  a 
picture  or  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  under  a  canopy 
of  light  blue  or  white  silk  or  muslin;  in  front  of  it  are 
lighted  tapers  and  flowers,  space  being  left  for  two  grow¬ 
ing  plants. 

The  Countess  Hildegard,  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  the  little  oratory,  steps  back  and  contemplates  her  work 
with  pride  and  pleasure. 

Elizabeth  sits  to  the  right,  busied  with  some  needlework. 


2 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


HILDEGARD  [turning  to  Elizabeth].  Well,  sister  mine, 
are  you  not  going  to  look  at  my  oratory?  [Teasingly] 
You  should  be  satisfied  with  my  “artistic  hand!” 

ELIZABETH.  Wait,  Hildegard,  until  this  work  is  fin¬ 
ished,  and  then  I  shall  look  at  it. 

HILDEGARD.  Oh  I  leave  your  work.  It  won’t  run 
away ;  neither,  I  hope,  will  my  oratory — but  the  first  pleas¬ 
ure  in  a  finished  work  is  so  delightful,  yet  so  soon  gone. 
Come  share  my  pleasure,  sister  dear.  Do  drop  your  work 
and  come  admire  mine. 

ELIZABETH  [getting  up,  gives  a  hasty  glance  toward 
the  oratory].  Well  then,  for  your  sake,  I  will  look  at  it. 
[To  Hildegard,  after  another  glance  at  the  oratory]. 
Though  I  cannot  understand  how  in  such  child’s  play - 

HILDEGARD.  Oh  I  do  not  abuse  what  gives  me  such 

Vi i*f "f t"  ^ 

ELIZABETH.  That  is  what  I  cannot  account  for.  De¬ 
votion  1  Certainly,  who  should  not  nourish  devotion  ? 
Who  stands  not  in  need  of  prayer  in  this  valley  of  tears? 
Only - 

HILDEGARD.  Very  wise  you  are,  and  also  pious, 
dearest  sister,  but  your  life  of  wealth  and  ease  and  con¬ 
stant  travel,  in  which  you  have  seen  and  experienced  so 
much,  has  robbed  your  heart  of  the  bloom  of  tender,  child¬ 
like  simplicity. 

ELIZABETH.  Oh,  I  have  no  desire  for  childlike  sim¬ 
plicity. 

HILDEGARD  [seating  herself  to  some  work].  But  you 
should  not  look  at  it  askance,  and  murmur  against  it,  in  us 
who  are  less  experienced.  You  grew  up  in  the  Court  of 
the  Duke  and  gathered  rich  nourishment  for  your  mind. 
We — here  in  the  castle,  retired  from  the  world,  in  peace¬ 
ful  solitude — we  relish  a  piece  of  black  bread  and  a  bowl 
of  milk,  and  are  happy  in  the  devotion  of  our  people.  The 
heart,  under  the  coarse  garment,  does  not  love  less,  though 
the  words  be  not  so  choice  and  picked  and  the  sound  not 
so  melodious. 

ELIZABETH.  I  leave  you  to  your  ideas — leave  me  to 
mine. 

HILDEGARD.  Not  quite  undisturbed  do  you  regard 
our  ways,  dear  sister,  that  I  have  noticed — especially  when 
to  our  dear  Lady - 

ELIZABETH.  Yes— that! 

HILDEGARD.  Have  I  touched  the  tender  spot  where 
dear  Elizabeth  is  easily  hurt?  Acknowledge  it! 

ELIZABETH.  What  have  I  to  acknowledge?  I  also 
honor  the  pother  of  God;  but  so  exaggeratedly  as  you — 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


3 


only  calling  upon  Mary  for  help,  leaving  hardly  anything 
to  the  Saviour’s  intercession,  seeming  to  honor  her  almost 
more  than  our  Saviour — I  certainly  do  not. 

HILDEGARD.  You  think  God  must  feel  hurt  because 
we  so  often  call  upon  His  mother  for  help. 

ELIZABETH.  Yes,  that  is  about  what  I  mean.  You 
rob  the  Son  of  God  of  the  honor  that  is  His  due  and  give 
it  in  superfluity  to  His  mother. 

HILDEGARD.  Were  I  clever  and  learned  like  you  I 
should  know  how  to  express  myself  in  eloquent  language 
in  defence  of  this  love,  and  honor  to  Mary  our  mother. 

ELIZABETH.  Eloquent  language  is  not  always  the 
expression  of  right  and  truth. 

HILDEGARD.  Well,  then,  my  meaning  is  this:  if  I 
desired  a  great  favor  from  the  duke  of  our  land,  some¬ 
thing  most  important  for  my  welfare,  or  the  welfare  of 
those  dear  to  me,  and  I  should  turn  to  the  duchess,  the 
mother  of  the  young  prince,  do  you  think  he  would  feel  that 
the  honor  “due  him  had  been  lessened  by  having  the  mother 
plead  for  me?  Would  he  believe  on  that  account  that  we 
wished  to  place  his  mother  on  the  throne  and  no  longer 
have  him  for  our  duke,  our  prir  .e,  from  whom  all  favors 
come,  and  without  whose  consent  the  mother  will  and  can 
grant  nothing?  The  mother  must  ask — the  same  as  others 
— only,  and  that  surely  you  will  acknowledge,  how  much 
more  readily  would  a  request  be  granted  if  the  mother 
plead. 

ELIZABETH.  I  yield  to  the  pious  words  of  my  dear 
sister.  Often  have  I  begun  to  contend  with  you  over'y6ur 
devotion  to  Mary,  but  was  ever  silenced  by  your  pious 
reasoning.  I  let  you  do  as  you  please  in  the  matter,  Hil- 
degard,  only  do  not  ask  that,  as  an  old  garment,  I  cast 
my  soul  from  me  and  slip  into  yours.  Show  and  praise  to 
me  your  little  altar  for  the  first  of  May — for  “Mary’s 
month,”  as  you  wish  to  hear  it  called.  [Gets  up,  and  tak¬ 
ing  Hildegard’s  hand,  leads  her  before  the  oratory.] 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  for  “Mary’s  month!”  To  us  in 
the  castle  May  shall  be  indeed  celebrated  as  Mary’s  month ; 
and  for  my  chapel  in  the  woods  yonder — oh,  for  my  dear 
little  chapel ! — what  pretty  garlands  I  have  woven ! 

ELIZABETH  [examining  the  altar].  Very  ingeniously 
have  you  arranged  it — the  white  veil,  the  choice  of  flowers. 

HILDEGARD.  It  is  very  simple,  but  love  must  make 
up  for  what  is  lacking  in  beauty  and  skill. 

ELIZABETH.  And  abundantly  will  your  love  make  up. 

ADELHEID  [appears  at  the  door  carrying  a  rosebush 
on  which  a  remarkably  beautiful  rose  is  blooming;  she 


4 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


holds  it  up  to  view,  exclaiming  in  joyous  tones] :  Look 
mother — look,  auntie !  See  what  the  sweet  month  of  May 
has  brought  to  me.  Yes,  is  it  not  astonishingly  beautiful? 
Such  a  rose  should  not  be  shown  for  nothing.  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  another  such  rose  in  the  whole  duchy. 

ELIZABETH.  It  is  indeed  a  flower  of  rare  beauty. 

HILDEGARD.  A~ lovely  gift  of  spring!  You  should 
indeed  be  grateful.  But  will  you  not  give  it  to  the  Mother 
of  God — place  it  here  in  honor  of  our  Queen  of  May? 

ADELHEID.  Oh,  how  gladly!  [Places  the  plant  be¬ 
fore  the  picture.]  Here,  sweet  mother,  take  my  rose;  re¬ 
ceive  the  gift  and  bless  thy  child.  God  knew  its  destiny, 
hence  bade  it  bloom  in  perfect  beauty;  and,  dear  mother, 
what  a  message  this  flower  brings  to  me ! 

HILDEGARD.  What  message,  Adelheid?  Explain! 

ADELHEID.  Mother,  surely  you  have  not  forgotten! 
And  you.  Aunt  Elizabeth,  do  you  not  remember,  either? 

ELIZABETH.  What  should  I  remember? 

HILDEGARD.  To  what  do  you  allude,  dear  child? 

ADELHEID  [teasingly  slow].  About  a  month  ago — do 
you  really  not  remember,  dear  mother? — about  a  month 
ago  a  messenger  came  from  Weilersburg,  with  a  little 
note — ; — 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  yes!  Now  I  recall  it!  He  brought 
the  news  that  all  the  young  girls  were  being  gathered  to¬ 
gether  to  form  a  pilgrimage  to  Loretto  to  the  holy  house 
of  Nazareth. 

ELIZABETH.  And  Adelheid  found  great  delight  in 
the  news  of  this  singular  expedition.  I  remember  it  now, 
perfectly.  Also  Bertha,  the  bailiff’s  daughter,  was  happy 
over  the  plan,  and  they  both  wished  to  start  immediately 
for  Loretto. 

ADELHEID.  No,  we  only  wished  to  send  word  im¬ 
mediately  to  Weilersburg  that  Tannberg  would  surely  be 
represented. 

HILDEGARD.  It  is  so  far,  and  too  dangerous  an  un¬ 
dertaking. 

ADELHEID.  But,  mother  dear,  your  promise  has  been 
given.  Oh,  do  not  take  it  back ! 

ELIZABETH.  What — you  have  given  your  permission, 
Hildegard? 

HILDEGARD.  Did  I  really  give  my  promise? 

ADELHEID.  Not  at  the  moment,  dearest  mother;  but 
remember  you  gave  us  each  a  little  rosebush  to  watch  and 
tend,  saying:  “The  one  upon  whose  rosebush  first  shall 
bloom  a  rose  may  join  the  pilgrimage  to  Loretto.”  Here  is 
my  rosebush  and  this  is  the  first  rose. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


Ml 

5 

HILDEGARD.  I  promised — yes,  I  remember,  dear 
child,  and  my  word  shall  be  kept. 

ELIZABETH.  Equally  unadvised  and  thoughtless  do  I 
consider  the  promise  and  its  fulfilment. 

ADELHEID.  And  why,  dear  aunt? 

ELIZABETH.  Because  the  way  is  unknown  to  you, 
the  journey  over  the  mountain  is  attended  by  many  diffi¬ 
culties,  then  the  voyage  over  the  sea,  the  storms,  the  dan¬ 
ger  of  foundering  on  the  rocks  and  cliffs  of  the  coast — and 
young  girls,  only  young  girls,  you  think  you  can  travel  in 
safety  among  strange,  rough  people !  It  is  indeed  a  fool¬ 
hardy  enterprise  you  contemplate. 

ADELHEID.  Oh,  do  not  paint  it  in  such  black,  such 
gloomy  colorings.  I  only  think  how  in  sweet  union,  sing¬ 
ing  hymns  to  our  Blessed  Mother,  we  will  wander  from 
one  little  shrine  to  another ;  the  fatigue  and  trouble  shared 
in  common  will  leave  but  very  little  for  each.  Then  Italy — 
the  world’s  garden,  with  its  ever  blue  skies  and  green  fields ! 
No  hazardous  undertaking  seems  a  journey  through  such 
a  paradise.  And  the  sea — it  has  its  dangers,  but  also  its 
star,  the  “Star  of  the  Sea,”  our  mother  !  She  will  guide 
and  watch  over  her  children. 

ELIZABETH.  Well,  Hildegard,  do  you  permit  this 
journey? 

ADELHEID.  Yes,  yes,  dear  mother,  I  beg  of  you ! 

HILDEGARD.  I  must — I  pledged  my  word  and  must 
redeem  it! 

ADELHEID.  Thank  you,  thank  you,  best  of  mothers. 
[Kisses  Hildegard’s  hand.]  Our  Heavenly  Mother  will 
reward  you. 

ELIZABETH.  Await  the  day  when  my  warning  will 
be  remembered.  The  day  will  come,  of  that  I  am  sure ! 

HILDEGARD.  When  do  you  leave  the  castle,  my  little 
Adelheid  ? 

ADELHEID.  To-morrow,  mother,  on  the  first  day  of 
May,  we  start  on  our  pilgrimage.  At  the  Castle  Weilers- 
burg  I  am  to  join  the  other  girls. 

HILDEGARD.  To-morrow  already?  How  soon  that 
is !  You  must  make  some  preparations  for  such  a  long  ab¬ 
sence. 

ADELHEID.  All  is  prepared,  dear  mother.  Whilst 
awaiting  your  kind  consent,  I  prepared  all  I  need — ^yes, 
more  than  that.  I  even  sent  my  little  pack  to  Weilersburg ; 
so  I  must  only  send  myself  after  it. 

ELIZABETH.  What  is  done  in  haste  is  sure  to  be 
regretted. 

ADELHEID.  Please  do  not  be  angry,  dear  aunt: 


6 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


ELIZABETH.  It  is  not  with  you  that  I  am  provoked, 
but  with  your  singular  fancy. 

HILDEGARD.  For  three  long  months  must  I  sep¬ 
arated  from  my  Adelheid? 

ADELHEID.  So  long  also  must  I  be  separated  from 
my  mother.  Then  I  shall  remain  with  you  and  be  your 
Adelheid  ever,  but  richer  far  in  grace,  and,  if  possible,  in 
love  for  you,  dearest  mother ! 

HILDEGARD.  The  best  of  gifts  you  will  bring  back. 
Willingly,  therefore,  should  I  pay  the  cost. 

ADELHEID.  Now  I  must  hasten  to  tell  my  joy  to  Ber¬ 
tha  and  tease  her  a  little  over  her  belated  rose.  God’s 
blessing  be  with  you  both!  [Starts  to  leave  the  room,  but 
is  prevented  by  the  entrance  of  Bertha,  equally  happy  in  the 
possession  of  a  blooming  rosebush.] 

BERTHA  [to  Adelheid].  No,  no,  Adelheid,  don’t  run 
off.  Just  stay  here  and  look  at  this  wonderful  flower  I 
Good  morning,  all !  I  bring  the  first  messenger  of  spring ! 

ADELHEID.  What,  Bertha!  Also  a  rose?  But  see, 
you  are  too  late.  My  bush  bore  the  first  bloom. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  dear  Bertha,  Adelheid’s  rose  is 
already  here,  but  yours  also  is  worthy  a  place  of  honor.  So 
come,  place  it  on  Our  Lady’s  altar.  [Bertha  places  her 
plant  next  to  Adelheid’s.] 

HILDEGARD  [examining  the  roses].  It  is  astonishing 
how  alike  these  flowers  are;  there  is  no  shade  of  differ¬ 
ence  ! 

ADELHEID  [to  Bertha].  I  have  already  obtained  the 
fruit  of  the  first  bloom.  I  go  to  Loretto. 

BERTHA.  Wait,  wait,  Adelheid;  so  readily  T  do  not 
give  in,  nor  sacrifice  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart !  Not 
just  since  some  moments  bloomed  this  rose  of  mine;  oh, 
no!  This  morning  early  I  went  to  my  window,  but  still 
closed  in  sleep  was  my  rosebud.  Then  from  the  valley 
rang  out  loud  and  clear  the  Angelus  bell;  as  if  awakened 
by^the  angel’s  salutation,  my  bud'  lifted  up  its  head  and 
opened  to  the  sunshine,  and  e’er  the  bell  had  ceased  its 
peal  my  rose  appeared  in  all  its  present  beauty. 

ADELHEID.  My  rose  also  unfolded  its  dainty  petals 
with  the  angel’s  morning  greeting. 

BERTHA.  Not  earlier  then,  nor  later,  bloomed  my 
rose  than  yours. 

ADELHEID.  Truly,  mother  dear,  there  are  two  first 
roses,  and  Mary  calls  us  both  to  Loretto ! 

BERTHA.  So  it  is,  dear  Countess;  do  let  Mary’s  call 
be  answered! 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


7 


ELIZABETH.  In  advance  these  girls  liave  arranged 
their  plan,  it  seems  to  me. 

ADELHEID.  Truly  not,  dear  mother.  W  e  would  not 
sneak,  through  lying,  to  Loretto  to  the  Blessed  Mother’s 
holy  house. 

HILDEGARD.  For  you,  Bertha,  I  am  not  free  to 
decide,  cannot  refuse,  cannot  consent.  What  think  you 
would  your  mother  say? 

BERTHA.  My  mother  leaves  it  in  your  hands.  But  if 
you  wish,  I  shall  call  her. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  do  so,  my  child. 

ADELHEID.  Let  me  go  with  you.  [Exit  Adelheid  and 
Bertha.] 

ELIZABETH.  A  month  ago,  when  the  messenger  came 
with  this  unfortunate  intelligence,  you  thought  Adelheid 
and  Bertha  indispensable  to  your  happiness.  You  said  you 
could  not  spare  either  of  them.  And  now  you  allow  your¬ 
self  to  be  talked  over,  to  be  deceived,  I  should  like  to  say, 
into  thinking  they  are  not  necessary  to  you.  You  are  going 
to  send  them  both  away  for  the  entire  summer.  Well,  I 
wish  you  joy! 

HILDEGARD.  It  is  a  sacrifice;  yes,  a  great  one  for 
me,  to  let  my  daughter  go  and  faithful  Bertha.  But  God 
desires  sacrifice,  and  the  Blessed  Mother  has  plainly  shown 
how  acceptable  it  would  be. 

ELIZABETH.  Now  again  you  speak  in  terms  I  never 
can  grasp  or  understand.  I  hear  steps,  probably  Margaret. 
[Enter  Margaret,  Bertha  and  Adelheid.] 

HILDEGARD  [going  toward  Bertha’s  mother].  Dear 
Margaret,  with  you  rests  the  decision.  Do  you  allow  your 
daughter  to  go? 

MARGARET.  She  has  my  permission.  Countess  I 

HILDEGARD.  Then  I  am  at  rest.  It  is  a  great  conso¬ 
lation,  Margaret,  that  my  Adelheid  does  not  go  unaccom¬ 
panied  among  strangers.  By  her  side  will  be  her  dearest 
friend  and  with  her  a  goodly  share  of  home  and  home’s 
affection. 

ADELHEID.  My  heartfelt  thanks,  dear  Margaret. 

BERTHA.  How  grateful  am  I  to  this  first  day  of  May 
which  brought  my  rose  to  me. 

HILDEGARD.  W^ith  what  pleasure,  when  you  are  far 
distant,  my  dear  children,  shall  I  think  how,  like  the  two 
roses,  your  childish  hearts  have  opened  and  blossomed  with 
love  to  Mary;  how  together  you  will  be  wandering,  pray¬ 
ing  and  singing  praises  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  in  love 
united  and  each  the  angel  guardian  of  the  other. 

MARGARET.  And  in  three  months  from  to-day  you 


8 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


will  return.  The  woodland  chapel  will  be  the  happy  spot 
where  we  shall  meet. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  the  chapel  in  the  woods,  where  is 
the  miraculous  image  of  our  Blessed  Lady.  Every  day, 
while  you  wander  in  distant  lands,  I  shall  descend  to  our 
woodland  chapel  and  speak  of  you  to  our  dear  Mother  and 
let  her  tell  me  about  you.  There  will  our  happy  meeting 
find  place  when  you  return,  full  of  joy  and  rich  in  heavenly 
gifts. 

ADELHEID.  We  must  say  farewell,  mother;  but  ’twill 
not  be  so  long  e’er  we  return.  Give  us  your  blessing;  you 
also,  Aunt  Elizabeth,  and  you,  dear  Margaret. 

BERTHA.  Yes,  the  blessing  of  all  rest  upon  us !  [Both 
kneel.] 

HILDEGARD.  From  the  depths  of  iny  heart,  dear  chil¬ 
dren,  be  blessed  in  the  name  of  Jesus  and  Mary. 

MARGARET.  God  be  with  you  ever  on  your  pil¬ 
grimage,  and  may  His  angels  watch  over  you  always. 

ELIZABETH.  Though  I  cannot  rise  to  the  height  of 
your  devotion,  my  blessing  nevertheless  be  yours,  because  I 
love  you.  God  be  with  you  now  and  ever ! 

ADELHEID  [rises,  also  Bertha].  Farewell,  dear,  dear 
mother;  farewell,  good  aunt,  and  you,  friend  Margaret. 

BERTHA.  Farewell,  dear  friends.  God  watch  over 
you,  my  dear  mother  ! 

HILDEGARD  [kisses  Adelheid  and  Bertha].  Go,  my 
children,  and  God  be  with  you.  Take  my  prayers  to  Mary’s 
shrine !  [Exit  Adelheid  and  Bertha,  the  others  accompany¬ 
ing  them.] 


Act  IL 

The  scene  represents  the  woods  near  the  Castle  of  Tann- 
berg.  In  the  background  a  stone  chapel,  if  possible  with  a 
tower,  a  thick  growth  of  trees  on  either  side.  In  front,  to 
the  left,  a  low,  moss-covered  stone  seat ;  to  the  right  of  it  a 
stone  surface,  about  a  foot  from  the  ground.  The  entrance 
to  the  chapel  is  shut  off  by  a  curtain.  Hildegard  and  Eliza¬ 
beth  appear  from  the  left.  Hildegard  seems  sad  and  weary. 

ELIZABETH.  This  day  is  the  last,  is  it  not,  Hildegard, 
that  I  am  to  accompany  you  here  ? 

HILDEGARD.  The  last?  I  do  not  grasp  your  mean¬ 
ing.  Did  you  think  I  meant  with  to-day  to  cease  giving 
honor  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  ? 

ELIZABETH.  Understand  me  rightly !  The  last  time 
concerns  me  only.  You  will  no  longer  need  the.  service  of 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


9 


your  sister,  as  your  dear  daughter  returns  to  again  claim 
the  privilege. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Adelheid,  I  am  to  see 
her  again  to-day,  after  so  long,  so  long  a  time !  [Seats 
herself  on  the  stone  before  the  chapel.  Elizabeth  stands 
by  her  side.] 

ELIZABETH.  I  rejoice  indeed,  especially  though  on 
your  account.  Who  would  have  thought  you  could  so 
change  during  the  three  months  of  your  daughter's  absence. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  weak  and  miserable  have  I  become. 
You  have  a  right  to  find  fault. 

ELIZABETH.  You  are  being  consumed  by  constant 
longing  after  Adelheid,  and  more  overcast  than  in  midwin¬ 
ter  has  the  sun  arisen  for  you  these  summer  days. 

HILDEGARD.  Never  should  I  have  thought  my  heart 
had  so  completely  entwined  itself  in  my  child.  Often  I 
have  read  of  holy  women  who  gladly  sacrificed  the  first  or 
only  fruit  of  their  love  to  their  faith,  to  their  God.  They 
held  out  in  noble  strength,  though  seeing  their  beloved 
child  languishing  in  a  martyr’s  dungeon.  For  love  of  Christ 
they  tore  their  treasures  from  their  hearts,  from  the  home 
circle  of  love,  and  heroically  led  them  to  suffer  torture  and 
death,  offering  them  as  heavenly  brides  to  the  Saviour. 

ELIZABETH.  That  would  be  beyond  the  power  of  your 
mother  heart. 

HILDEGARD.  You  indeed  speak  truth !  How  often, 
Elizabeth,  in  reading  or  hearing  of  such  sacrifices  my  heart 
was  inflamed  with  love  of  God,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  con¬ 
ceive  the  idea  that  I  also  would  be  one  of  those  heroic 
mothers,  and  now ! 

ELIZABETH.  The  test  is  ending,  Hildegard.  To-day 
your  daughter  will  return  to  you. 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  yes,  the  test  is  ending.  To  my  re¬ 
proach,  I  have  been  found  wanting !  But  I  cannot  find  the 
right  feelings  of  shame  and  contrition.  The  reproach  is* 
almost  sweet.  I  have  not  stood  the  test,  but  my  Adelheiil 
returns  to  me. 

ELIZABETH.  Already  in  the  expectation  you  have 
found  new  strength. 

HILDEGARD.  That  it  should  yet  but  be  expectation 
and  not  the  delight  of  a  first  embrace !  What  doubts,  what 
fears  between  the  hope  and  the  reality. 

ELIZABETH.  Do  not  embitter  for  yourself  the  inter¬ 
vening  time.  The  blessed  hour  of  your  reunion  is  near  at 
hand. 

HILDEGARD.  Blessed,  indeed,  will  be  that  hour !  Oh, 
if  Adelheid  were  not  soon  to  return,  were  not  now  hasten¬ 
ing  to  her  poor  mother’s  aching  heart ! 


10 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


ELIZABETH.  Then  she  would  return  to-morrow  or 
later. 

HILDEGARD.  Eternities  are  for  me  these  to-morrows, 
these  laters !  ' 

ELIZABETH.  The  distance  is  great  and  the  journey- 
accompanied  by  many  difficulties.  One  cannot  calculate  ex¬ 
actly  for  what  may  and  what  may  not  happen.  And  on  the 
ocean  one  is  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  wave.  A  day,  nay  a 
week’s  delay,  should  not  be  considered. 

HILDEGARD,  You  renew  the  clouds  of  evil  possibil¬ 
ities  which  dim  my  clear  sky  of  hope.  This  is  the  day  on 
which  my  Adelheid  and  all  the  other  sweet  girl  pilgrims 
promised  to  return.  Daily  have  I  descended  the  hill  and 
laid  the  welfare  of  my  child  before  the  Blessed  Mother’s 
heart.  She  cannot  have  forgotten  to  protect  my  child,  for-- 
too  often,  too  often  have  I  pleaded ! 

ELIZABETH.  Difficult  it  has  not  been  to  aid  the  pil¬ 
grims,  for  since  their  departure  the  brightest  of  heavens  has 
smiled  over  the  earth,  making  it  one  continual  spring. 

HILDEGARD.  Do  not  depreciate  Blessed  Mary’s  help. 

ELIZABETH.  That  I  do  not  intend.  Only  to  me  it 
does  not  seem  such  a  particular  fayor  for  Mary  to  watch 
over  an  innocent  child  on  a  journey,  the  object  of  which 
was  to  do  Her  honor  at  Her  shrine;  and  then  this  favor, 
daily  prayed  for  by  you,  the  mother. 

HILDEGARD.  Your  sentiment  does  not  imply  venera¬ 
tion  or  the  pious  awe  that  is  the  Blessed  Virgin’s  due. 

ELIZABETH.  Verily,  should  Mary  not  answer  such  a 
prayer  as  yours,  then - 

HILDEGARD.  Say  nothing  foolish,  Elizabeth ! 

MARGARET  [comes  hurriedly,  calling  aloud].  My  dear 
ladies !  Only  listen !  Forgive  my  rude  disturbance,  biit 
pleasure  makes  me  forget  all  else. 

HILDEGARD.  Welcome,  Margaret.  Tell  us  your 
pleasant  news.  ^ 

MARGARET  [excitedly].  They  are  already  on  the  path 
leading  to  the  chapel ! 

ELIZABETH.  The  girls,  do  you  mean?  The  pilgrims 
from  Loretto? 

MARGARET.  Yes,  yes,  up  bn  yonder  hill,  through  a 
clearing  in  the  woods,  one  can  plainly  see  into  the  valley. 
From  there  I  watched  the  procession.  A  banner  was  wav¬ 
ing  at  its  head,  like  an  angel’s  guardian  pointing  out  the 
way,  and  already  I  have  heard  the  still,  faint  sound  of  their 
hymns.  Listen,  listen,  dear  friends ! 

HILDEGARD  [rising].  Joy  has  almost  robbed  me  of 
my  remaining  strength,  but  quickly  now  shall  I  regain  it. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


II 


My  Adelheia  returns  again!  Thanks,  oh  thanks  to  thee, 
Maria  I 

ELIZABETH.  They  will,  no  doubt,  come  first  to  the 
chapel ;  it  was  so  arranged. 

[In  the  distance  is  heard  the  song  of  the  pilgrims.  Any 
suitable  hymn  to  the  Blessed  Virgin.]' 

MARGARET.  Already  they  are  wending  their  way  to¬ 
ward  the  woods.  How  near  they  are !  Look  now ;  you 
can  see  them  through  the  trees.  Excuse  me,  I  must  hasten 
to  embrace  my  child  I 

ELIZABETH.  Well,  sister,  do  you  also  wish  by  some 
moments  to  anticipate  your  joy  by  going  to  meet  your 
child  ? 

HILDEGARD.  No,  I  shall  wait  here.  How  gladly  now 
I  wait  I  In  the  Virgin  Mother’s  presence  shall  be  our  first 
greeting. 

[The  sound  of  the  pilgrims’  song  is  now  plainly  heard  as 
they  approach  at  the  end  of  the  hymn.  The  girls,  about 
eight  in  number,  arrive',  carrying  staffs  and  traveling 
satchels.  Bertha,  holding  her  mother  by  the  hand,  leads 
them,  followed  next  by  Christina  and  Agnes.] 

MARGARET.  Now  indeed,  dear  Bertha,  you  can  feel 
yourself  at  home  again,  welcomed  on  your  first  approach 
by  all  you  love  and  all  who  love  you ! 

BERTHA  [to  Hildegard].  Best  greetings,  noble  lady! 
[Kisses  Hildegard’s  hand.] 

HILDEGARD.  Welcome  home,  Bertha!  In  Blessed 
Mary’s  name,  be  welcome,  all !  But  why  am  I  kept  waiting? 
Why  does  my  Adelheid  not  come  to  be  welcomed  to  her 
motlicr^s  li03.rc  ^ 

ELIZABETH.  She  is  most  likely  hiding.  A  most  un¬ 
suitable  time  she  picks  for  jesting. 

HILDEGARD.  Where  is  my  child?  Where  is  Adel¬ 
heid? 

[All  look  at  each  other  in  embarrassment.] 

HILDEGARD  [in  troubled  tones].  Speak,  dear  chil¬ 
dren,  speak !  Where  is  my  child  ? 

BERTHA  [hesitatingly].  Noble  lady - 

ELIZABETH.  Answer  the  question. 

HILDEGARD.  Oh  !  where  is  my  child  ! 

BERTHA.  Do  not  be  frightened,  noble  lady! 

HILDEGARD  [anxiously].  You  have  bad  news  to  an¬ 
nounce  to  me  ?  Alas !  your  face  tells  more  than  your 
words— it  tells  me  all.  Adelheid  is  dead ! 

ELIZABETH.  It  cannot  be !  It  cannot  be ! 

BERTHA.  No,  no,  calm  yourself,  dear  Countess.  You 
have  read  too  much  from  my  face.  Your  daughter  lives; 
yes — she  lives  !  * 


12 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


HILDEGARD.  And  where  is  she? 

BERTHA.  Be  content  to  learn  no  more  at  present,  dear¬ 
est  Countess.  You  have  had  enough  anxiety. 

HILDEGARD  [in  deep  distress].  Oh!  I  will,  bear  all, 
only  not  this  fear,  this  dreadful  doubt.  Better  the  cer¬ 
tainty,  and  were  it  of  her  death,  than  the  long,  hopeless 
agony  of  doubt ! 

ELIZABETH.  Tell  us  that  which  we  must  know  sooner 
or  later ! 

BERTHA.  Your  daughter  is  not  dead.  But,  I  fear  me. 
Tis  almost  worse.  She  is  imprisoned ! 

HILDEGARD.  Imprisoned?  What  enemy  had  my 
child — my  innocent  Adelheid,  my  angel  child? 

ELIZABETH.  And  Adelheid  alone  was  imprisoned? 
How  was  that?  You  have  indeed  kept  bad  watch  over  her ! 

BERTHA.  Whether  we  are  to  blame  for  dear  Adel- 
heid’s  fate  you  will  learn  by  the  information  I  bring  you. 

MARGARET.  Relate  the  horrors  through  which  you 
have  passed  I 

BERTHA.  To  the  coast  our.  journey  was  without  ad¬ 
venture,  and  here  also  the  bright  skies  made  the  voyage 
most  promising,  but  hardly  had  our  vessel  sailed  out  to  the 
open  sea,  when  there  appeared  on  the  horizon  a  ship,  mighty 
in  its  size,  gloom  inspiring  in  its  blackness.  Our  crew 
seemed  paralyzed ‘with  fear,  and  soon,  ah,  too  soon,  we  un¬ 
derstood  their  dread.  The  great  ship  came  nearer  and 
nearer;  like  lightning  it  seemed  to  approach.  Pirates  it 
carried  from  the  African  coast. 

HILDEGARD  [excitedly].  Quickly,  quickly !  The  rob¬ 
bers  came  and  carried  my  Adelheid  away ! 

CHRISTINA.  Not  Adelheid  alone.  All  of  us,  dear 
Countess  I 

ELIZABETH.  All  of  you? 

BERTHA.  In  chains  they  carried  us  to  the  hot  African 
coast;  to  a  castle,  shining  in  its  decorations  of  gold,  they 
led  us.  Here  lived  their  queen.  Our  possessions  they  laid 
as  booty  at  her  feet,  and  at  her  feet  we  also  sank,  loud  in 
our  lamentations. 

HILDEGARD.  And  you  were  freed  ? 

CHRISTINA.  Not  immediately.  With  some  pity  the 
queen  seemed  to  look  upon  us ;  yet,  at  a  sign  from  her,  they 
led  us  away  into  a  dungeon  dark  and  damp.  Oh!  with 
deepest  distress  and  greatest  dread  our  souls  were  filled. 
We  wept,  we  wailed  like  timorous  children — we  all,'  with 
one  exception ! 

HILDEGARD.  And  the  exception  was? 

BERTHA.  Your  daughter,  our  dearest  Adelheid. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


13 


ELIZABETH.  She  remained  calm?  She  did  not  even 
weep  ? 

CHRISTINA.  Not  a  single  tear  did  she  shed,  but  re¬ 
mained  cheerful  and  spoke  to  us  words  of  sweet  consola¬ 
tion.  Like  St.  Peter,  she  said,  has  God  led  us  here,  though 
we  did  not  wish  to  come  ?  His  arm  can  reach  us ;  He  will 
help  us,  for  what  is  impossible  to  us  is  as  nothing  to  Him. 
Trust  in  God  and  in  His  Blessed  Mother ! 

HILDEGARD.  My  holy  child! 

BERTHA.  As  from  an  angel  came  her  words  of  com¬ 
fort,  and  while  we  still  listened  she  began  to  sing  a  hymn  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  We  had  not  the  courage  to  join  our 
voices  to  hers,  so  our  little  comforter  continued  alone  her 
hymns  for  us  all. 

ELIZABETH.  Who  would  have  expected  such  strength 
of  character  from  that  child,  who  ever  showed  herself  so 
timid  and  dependent? 

CHRISTINA.  While  Adelheid  sang  the  gate  clanked, 
and  the  queen,  accompanied  by  a  slave,  entered  our  prison. 

BERTHA.  With  astonishment  she  heard  the  hymn  and 
asked  in  whose  honor  it  was  sun^.  ‘Tn  Mary,  our  Mother’s 
honor,”  answered  Adelheid.  “Who  is  she?”  inquired  the 
pagan  queen,  and  Adelheid  in  beautiful,  seemingly  inspired 
words  of  praise  spoke  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  her  great 
power. 

CHRISTINA.  The  queen  had  probably  never  before 
been  addressed  so  frankly  and  with  such  spirit,  and  angrily 
she  asked:  “Can  Mary  obtain  your  freedom'  from  my 
power?”  “If  she  wills  it,  yes!”  answered  Adelheid. 

BERTHA.  In  loud  tones  of  rage  she  threatened.  “Now 
we  shall  see  if  Mary  helps  you!”  Then  to  us  she  spoke: 
“You  may  depart  in  freedom.  Return  to  your  homes;  my 
best  ship  is  at  your  service.  This  girl,  though,  remains  to 
await  the  help  of  her  highly  lauded  Virgin  Mary.” 

HILDEGARD.  And  you  left  my  child  in  the  dungeon, 
in  the  power  of  that  pagan  woman  ? 

CHRISTINA.  Not  without  the  deepest  grief,  and  only 
after  falling  on  our  knees,  we  had  begged  for  mercy  in  be¬ 
half  of  your  daughter. 

BERTHA.  But  unrelenting  the  queen  remained.  We 
had  to  leave  her ;  we  were  made  to  go.  By  force  they  put 
us  on  the  ship  and  as  the  sails  were  furled  we  heard  faintly 
from  the  prison  Adelheid’s  last  greeting  and  her  prayers 
for  us  and  for  her  beloved  mother. 

HILDEGARD,  [deeply  moved].  For  her  beloved  moth¬ 
er  !  The  only  bond  that  now  remains  is  our  united  cry  to 
Heaven,  I  shall  firmly  hold  it,  and  ever  more  strongly 


14 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


weave  it  until  it  becomes  the  path,  which  shall  lead  my  dar¬ 
ling  home  to  me. 

ELIZABETH.  Dearest,  how  courageously,  how  nobly 
you  bear  the  dreadful  blow  ! 

HILDEGARD.  I  can  bear  it  while  faith  and  hope  re¬ 
main.  Does  not  my  Adelheid,  ip  her  distant  dungeon,  trust 
in  the  Blessed  Virgin’s  help,  and  shall  I,  her  mother,  give 
up  to  despair? 

ELIZABETH.  Dare  I  tell  you  what  I  think  of  Mary’s 
help  ? 

HILDEGARD.  No,  no — tell  it  not !  Do  not  destroy  the 
last  blossom  of  tender  confidence !  Leave  me  now,  dear 
maidens.  I  thank  you  for  your  love,  your  devotion.  Nobly 
have  you  acted,  and  never  will  it  be  forgotten.  That  your 
love  found  no  mercy  at  the  hands  of  the  hard,  pagan  queen, 
God  has  permitted,  and  against  His  will  I  dare  not  mur¬ 
mur.  I  only  dare  to  trust  and  pray.  Perhaps  at  this  same 
hour  my  child  is  lifting  voice  and  heart  to  Heaven.  In 
unison  with  Adelheid  shall  I  also  call  to  our  Heavenly 
Queen.  Without  witnesses  I  wish  to  pray ;  leave  the  sor¬ 
rowing  earthly  mother  alone  to  pour  out  her  heart  to  the 
Blessed  Mother  in  heaven.  Fare  you  well ! 

BERTHA.  Your  desire  shall  be  complied  with.  Fare¬ 
well,  dearest  Countess ! 

ELIZABETH.  The  shock  has  been  too  great,  Hilde- 
gard.  Let  me  remain  with  you. 

MARGARET.  Remember,  dear  Countess,  though  the 
soul  be  strong  the  poor  body  cannot  bear  all  the  spirit  wills. 
Allow  us  to  remain  and  use  our  poor  efforts  to  console  you. 

HILDEGARD.  There  is  no  human  being  on  this  wide 
earth  to  console  me  now  but  one,  and  she  is  far  distant — 
buried  in  the  dungeon’s  gloom. 

ELIZABETH.  Allow  yourself  to  be  diverted,  sister. 

HILDEGARD.  You  mean  that  I  should  have  other 
,  thoughts  than  of  my  child?  I  dare  not,  even  if  I  could.  I 
only  wish  to  pray.  There  is  but  dne  to  console  me,  whose 
name  is  even  now  perhaps  on  the  lips  of  Adelheid.  Only 
Maria  can  strengthen  and  console  me  now.  Again,  fear 
nothing,  but  leave  me  to  myself ! 

ELIZABETH.  Since  it  is  your  desire,  dear  sister,  fare¬ 
well  ! 

ALL.  Farewell,  most  noble  lady !  [Exit  all  but  Hilde- 
gard ;  Elizabeth,  Margaret  and  Bertha  to  the  left,  the  others 
to  the  right.] 

[Hildegard  goes  to  the  chapel  and  pulls  aside  the  cur¬ 
tains  from  the  entrance.  On  a  low  altar  the  Blessed  Vir¬ 
gin  is  seated  as  though  on  a  stone,  immovable  as  a  statue. 
On  her  knees,  over  which  are  spread  a  fine  white  linen 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


IS 

cloth,  rests  the  Infant  Saviour,  over  whom  the  Virgin's  head 
is  bent.  On  either  side  of  the  throne  are  flowers  and  light¬ 
ed  tapers.  Hildegard  kneels  at  the  entrance  step,  a  little  to 
one  side,  so  as  not  to  turn  her  back  to  the  audience,  and 
raises  her  hands  in  prayer  toward  the  Blessed  Virgin.] 

HILDEGARD.  Thou  hast  heard  all,  O  Mary !  Thou 
knowest,  oh  Queen  of  Heaven,  that  for  thy  sake  I  have 
lost  my  chiM.  In  the  dungeon’s  depths  now  lies  my  child, 

,  because  of  her  trust  in  thee,  because  from  thy  heart  she 
would  not  be  separated.  Oh,  let  her  not  trust  in  vain. 
Make  known  to  the  pagan  queen  the  might  of  thy  blessed 
name.  Help — oh,  save — my  child !  All  hast  thou  allowed 
to  return  in  safety  from  thy  shrine  of  grace  except  my 
Adelheid,  who  alone  made  known  her  love  for  thee  to  the 
enemy  of  thy  name ;  who,  in  the  midst  of  her  distress,  sang 
songs  of  praise  to  thee,  and  lost  not  her  confidence  though 
thou  didst  seem  to  turn  away  thy  face  from  her.  Not  a 
single  day  have  I  neglected  to  ask  thy  protection  for  my 
dear  child,  and  never  has  it  been  known  that  thou  hast  left 
unaided  those  who  trust  in  thee.  Shall  I  be  the  first  to 
.have  called  on  thee  in  vain,  oh,  Maria!  Return  my  child 
to  me,  O  Mother  of  all  Mercy!  Thou  art  the  help  of  sin¬ 
ners,  even  so  be  now  the  help  of  my  innocent  child !  Thou 
wilt  grant  my  prayer,  I  know,  O  Virgin  blest !  [Arises  and 
goes  toward  her.]  Surely  the  Queen  of  Heaven  knows  how 

to  share  a  mother’s  sorrow,.  She  also  is - .  [Puts  her 

hand  to  her  forehead  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought.]  What  a  thought  has  come  to  my  mind!  It  shall 
be  carried  out.  Yes,  Mary  is  indeed  a  mother,  the  best 
mother  of  all  time,  and  how  she  loves  her  Child !  With  all 
of  a  true  mother’s  depth  and  strength  does  she  love  the 
divine  Babe  upon  her  knee.  Mary  took  from  me  my  child. 
I  shall  rob  her  of  the  Infant  Saviour,  and  never  shall  she 
behold  Him  more  until  she  has  restored  to  me  my  child. 
Fqfgive  me,  dear  Lord !  Surely  Thou  didst  send  the 
thought  to  me.  [She  goes  to  the  altar  and  takes  the  Christ 
Child  from  the  Blessed  Virgin’s  lap.]  Yes,  Maria,  I  take 
from  thee  thy  Child;  but  tenderly,  how  tenderly,  I  shall 
guard  it.  [She  holds  in  her  arms  the  Christ  Child  partly 
covered  with  the  white  linen  cloth.]  And  when  my  daugh¬ 
ter,  my  Adelheid,  returns  again  the  Infant  Saviour  shall 
return  to  thee — but  no  sooner,  Maria,  no  sooner!  [She 
turns  away  with  the  divine  Infant,  Which  she  kisses  de¬ 
voutly.]  Hail,  divine  Infant,  hail,  Thou  holy  blessed 
pledge !  All  love,  all  devotion,  shall  be  Thine,  only  to  Thy 
mother  I  shall  not  return  Thee  until  she  exchanges  for 
Thee  my  child.  [Turning  again  toward  the  altar,]  Think 
over  this.  Blessed  "Mother!  [Looking  upward.]  And 


i6 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


should  this  be  an  offence  that  I  have  committed,  dear 
Father  in  Heaven,  forgive  me.  'Tis  due  to  a  mother’s 
grief.  [Exit  quickly.] 

[The  Blessed  Virgin  arises  from  her  throne  in  the  chapel, 
descends  and  comes  toward  the  entrance.  Two  little  an¬ 
gels,  carrying  lighted  tapers,  appear  and  stand  one  at 
either  side,  as  though  awaiting  her  command.] 

FIRST  ANGEL.  Oh,  most  blessed  Queen,  how  daring 
are  God’s  creatures ! 

SECOND  ANGEL.  Shall  we  follow  and  punish  this 
woman? 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  No,  I  am  not  indignant  on  ac¬ 
count  of  an  act  caused  by  the  fir£  of  pure  love,  and  a  moth¬ 
er’s  love  is  so  deep,  so  strong,  so  pure. 

FIRST  ANGEL.  But  she  dare  not  keep  the  Infant 
Jesus! 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  She  dares,  until  I  have  redeemed 

the  saefeH  'nlpdc''e 

SECOND  aVgEL.  Oh,  Queen  of  Heaven,  wilt  thou 
yield  to  the  impetuous  demand  ? 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  I  yield.  Accompany  me  to  the 
imprisoned  child.  She  shall  be  freed  and  returned  to  her 
home. 

FIRST  ANGEL,  Oh,  Queen  of  Heaven,  the  maiden  we 
seek  lies  in  chains,  far  over  the  sea,  in  gloomy  dungeon,  and 
suffers  so  patiently. 

BLESSED  VIRGIN,  I  have  been  by  her  side  to  con¬ 
sole  her,  and  all  her  suffering  will  increase  the  glory  of  the 
crown  awaiting  her  in  heaven.  But  this  night  shall  be  her 
last  night  of  suffering.  Go  before,  little  angels,  and  lead 
me  to  the  child.  [Exit  angels;  the  Blessed  Virgin  slowly 
follows.] 


Act  III. 

The  scene  represents  a  deep  cave,  the  entrance  at  the 
back  of  the  stage,  in  the  middle  or  to  the  side.  The  en¬ 
trance  is  closed  by  a  strong  grating,  through  which  one 
can  see  out.  To  the  left  is  a  low  slab  of  stone,  on  which  is 
a  bed  of  straw.  On  the  ground  stands  an  empty  mug. 
Adelheid  is  fastened  by  the  hands  to  a  long  chain.  Before 
the  curtain,  lifts  the  accompaniment  of  Adelheid’s  song  is 
heard.  As  the  curtain  lifts  Adelheid  sings. 

adelheid’s  song. 

No  human  heart  in  sympathy  can  hear 
My  cry  of  grief  and  pain ; 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


17 


To  thee,  Maria,  mother  dear, 

I  shall  not  call  in  vain. 

“Remember,  Mary,  Virgin  fair, 

It  never  yet  was  told 
That  he  who  humbly  sought  thy  care 
Departed  unconsoled.” 

No  human  heart  in  sympathy  can  hear 
My  cry  of  grief  and  pain ;  ^ 

To  thee,  Maria,  mother  dear, 

I  shall  not  call  in  vain ! 

Forsaken  they  believe  me  now 
Within  these  walls  of  stone, 

As  if,  O  Virgin  Mother,  thou 

Wouldst  not  send  to  claim  thine  own. 

Yet  thou  art  looking  down  on  me, 

I  see  thee  from  above ; 

My  hands  they’ve  chain’d,  oh,  mother,  see ! 

They  cannot  chain  my  love. 

Forsaken  they  believe  me  now 
Within  these  walls  of  stone, 

As  if,  O  Virgin  Mother,  thou 
Wouldst  not  send  to  claim  thine  own. 


ADELHEID  [goes  to  the  grating  and  looks  sadly  out.] 
For  the  seventh  time  the  sun  is  setting  since  my  imprison¬ 
ment  in  this  dreary  dungeon.  Forsaken  by  creatures,  but 
not  by  God  and  His  blessed  mother !  Since  two  days  even 
the  little  crust  of  bread  has  been  kept  from  me  and  not  a 
drop  of  water  has  passed  my  lips.  [Goes  again  from  the 
grating  to  the  front  of  the  stage.]  Oh,  most  loving  Saviour ! 
Dearest  mother !  How  tired  is  my  head,  weak  my  heart 
and  worn  with  suffering  my  poor  body — strong  only  is  my 
trust,  my  hope,  in  you !  I  shall  think  of  the  holy  martyrs 
and  say :  welcome  this  dungeon,  these  chains,  since  they 
will  obtain  for  me  the  palm  branch  of  the  blessed.  My 
throat  is  parched  and  dry.  Oh,  for  a  drop  of  water ! 
[Takes  up  the  empty  cup  and  puts  it  down  again.]  Empty 
these  two  days  has  been  my  cup.  But  cheer  up,  weak 
heart,  do  not  despair.  The  spring  of  grace  will  ne’er  be 
dry.  With  living  water  will  God  refresh  my  soul !  [Goes 
toward  the  gate,  but  returns  again  immediately,  shivering 
with  cold.]  The  night  is  damp!  I  shiver  with  cold!  Oh, 
these  dreaded  nights — the  gloom !  the  chill !  the  blackness ! 
the  deathlike  stillness !  Nothing  can  I  hear  but  the  clank¬ 
ing  of  my  chains.  [Looks  smilingly  at  the  chains.]  Oh, 
these  chains!  You,  my  dear  mother,  know  nothing  of  the 


i8 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


fate  of  your  poor  Adelheid!  You  would  certainly  smile  to 
see  your  child  in  strong  chains  like  a  wild  beast  from 
which  one  could  not  be  sufficiently  defended.  Oh,  my 
mother,  am  I  never  more  to  see  you?  Never,  never  more? 
No,  no;  the  thought  is  too  heartrending — and  I  must  not 
weaken  my  poor  heart.  Oh,  Blessed  Virgin,  in  thee  be  my 
hope,  my  trust;  thou  wilt  strengthen  me  that  I  can  bear 
whate’er  befalls  me.  [Sing]  : 

But  this,  oh,  mother,  I  thee  pray : 

Oh,  strengthen  my  weak  heart, 

That  through  all  suffering  it  may 
Ne’er  from  thee  depart. 

For  me  God’s  grace  obtain,  mother  dear, 

)  Abide  with  me  this  night; 

I’ll  not  fear  if  thou  art  near, 

I  know  thy  love,  thy i might." 

But  this,  oh,  mother,  I  thee  pray : 

Oh,  strengthen  my  weak  heart, 

That  through  all - 

[The  queen,  accompanied  by  two  court  ladies,  opens  the 
grating  during  the  song  and  enters,  interrupting  Adelheid’s 
hymn  by  calling  out] : 

QUEEN.  What,  your  spirit  is  not  yet  broken !  What  is 
that  song? 

ADELHEID.  A  little  greeting,  a  little  prayer  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin. 

QUEEN.  I  thought  as  much !  Do  you  yet  trust  in  the 
Virgin’s  power? 

ADELHEID.  With  all  my  heart  do  I  trust! 

QUEEN.  And  for  seven  days  she  has  forsaken  you ! 

ADELHEID.  Oh,  the  Blessed  Virgin  has  not  forsaken 
me.  She  only  waits. 

QUEEN.  And  not  a  crumb  of  bread  has  she  obtained 
for  her  faithful  servant,  nor  -a  drop  of  water.  A  power¬ 
ful  Virgin  I  And  very  careful  of  her  children  I 

ADELHEID.  The  Virgin  Mother  obtained  for  me  grace 
and  strength  to  bear  all  suffering.  Is  that  not  sufficient? 
Not  more  than  bread  and  water? 

QUEEN,  Yet  you  are  suffering? 

ADELHEID.  No  consolation  would  be  needed  were  I 
not  suffering. 

QUEEN.  And  should  you  not  like  to  shorten  your  suf¬ 
ferings  ? 

ADELHEID.  Oh,  how  gladly !  I  beg  of  you  have 
mercy ! 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


19 


QUEEN.  You  can  turn  your  sufferings  into  joy  and 
gladness. 

ADELHEID.  To  see  my  mother  again — ^that  would  in¬ 
deed  be  joy. 

QUEEN.  That  also  shall  be  granted;  the  grating  shall 
be  opened,  the  chains  shall  fall. 

ADELHEID  [joyously].  Oh,  thank  you,  gracious  queen. 

QUEEN.  Only  deny  your  Virgin’s  power.  Your  lips 
must  no.  more  speak  her  name,  you  must  cease  to  call  upon 
her.  Your  Virgin  will  not  help  you!  Acknowledge  that 
to  me — say  she  will  not  help  you. 

ADELHEID.  The  Blessed  Virgin  will  help  me;  that  I 
most  firmly  believe  I 

QUEEN.  Silence,  foolhardy  girl !  Have  your  seven 
days  and  seven  nights  of  suffering  not  crushed  your  spirit? 
Have  not  your  pangs  of  hunger,  your  agony  of  thirst,  con¬ 
quered  the  illusion  that  bids  you  oppose  me? 

ADELHEID.  No,  your  majesty !  My  confidence  in  and 
love  for  my  Heavenly  Mother  have  triumphed  over  earthly 
pangs  and  agonies,  apd  my  trust  in  her  power  has  van¬ 
quished  all  tribulation  t 

QUEEN.  Yet,  Christian,  the  hunger  gnaws;  that  you 
cannot  deny. 

ADELHEID.  God  knows  how  much  I  suffer.  Have 
pity  and  send  but  a  crust  of  bread,  a  few  drops  of  water ! 

QUEEN  [aside].  In  that  way  I  may  conquer.  [Aloud 
to  her  two  companions]  Bring  bread  and  a  goblet  of  my 
best  wine!  [Exit  the  two  women.] 

ADELHEID.  You  are  so  hard,  and  yet  so  kind. 

QUEEN  [triumphantly].  It  is  not  Mary  who  gives  you 
food  and  drink.  It  is  I,  Christian,  I  alone ! 

ADELHEID.  ’Tis  Holy  Mary,  I  believe,  who  inclines 
your  heart  toward  mercy  in  my  behalf. 

QUEEN  [angrily].  By  the  prophets — no!  Powerless  is 
the  woman  you  honor.  My  heart  is  mine — entirely  mine ! 
I — I  alone  can  regulate  its  beats !  i Enter  the  women 
carrying  bread  in  a  little  basket  and  wine  in  a  golden  gob¬ 
let] 

QUEEN  [taking  the  goblet].  Here,  Christian!  From 
my  hand  receive  it !  No  one  yet  could  boast  that  from  my 
own  hand  they  received  refreshment.  I  give  it  to  you,  and 
not  Mary ! 

ADELHEID.  The  Queen  of  Heaven  sent  you  with  it. 

QUEEN  [angrily].  No  one  sent  me,  Christian!  I  alone 
have  the  power  to  control  my  actions.  Now,  quick !  Deny 
your  helpless  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  from  my  hand  the 
sweetest  wine  shall  be  given  to  refresh  you. 


20 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


ADELHEID.  You  wish  me  to  deny  my  Heavenly 
Mother  ? 

QUEEN.  Yes,  and  I  will  revile  her — ^you  also  must  help 
me  to  revile  her. 

ADELHEID.  Not  now,  and  never,  will  I  deny  or  revile 
Blessed  Mary’s  name ! 

QUEEN  [threateningly].  You  will  not?  Then  know 
that  if  I  leave  you  here,  not  again  shall  yonder  grating 
open  for  you,  but  slowly,  lingeringly,  you  shall  die  of  hun¬ 
ger  and  of  thirst. 

ADELHEID.  My  freedom,  my  life,  cannot  be  bought 
for  the  price  you  mention. 

QUEEN.  Here,  take  the  goblet,  and  say:  dishonored 
be  Mary’s  name ! 

ADELHEID  [drawing  away].  Never! 

QUEEN  [furiously].  You  will  not!  You  will  not! 
Take  the  Christian  and  chain  her  to  yonder  stone !  There, 
praising  her  helpless  Virgin,  shall  she  languish  and  die! 
[The  two  court  ladies  lead  Adelheid  to  the  bed  of  straw  on 
the  stone  slab,  upon  which  she  seats  herself;  they  fasten 
by  the  chain  her  hands  to  the  wall  so  that  her  arms  are 
stretched  out  as  though  crucified,  and  then  step  back  to  the 
queen.] 

QUEEN.  Now,  child  of  Mary,  here  shall  we  place  the 
bread  and  wine,  that  seeing  them  may  increase  your  suf¬ 
ferings  a  hundredfold!  [The  women  in  waiting  place  the 
basket  and  the  goblet  on  the  floor  by  the  empty  cup.] 
Now,  let  Mary  come  and  free  you  from  my  hands  if  she 
can!  Your  so  beloved,  so  mighty  Virgin!  [Exit  Queen 
and  companions.] 

ADELHEID  [calling  after  them].  My  heart  belongs  to 
Mary !  [The  gate  clanks  shut ;  the  Queen  and  her  com¬ 
panions  can  be  seen  through  the  bars  leaving  the  dungeon.] 

ADELHEID  [after  a  short  pause].  My  heart  belongs  to 
Mary !  Oh,  look  down  upon  me.  Sweet  Comforter  of  the 
Afflicted !  Look  down  upon  thy  child !  Gentle  Saviour, 
Thee  am  I  privileged  to  follow  !  My  arms  are  outstretched, 
like  Thine  upon. the  cross!  In  Thy  agony  Thou  didst  cry 
out,  ‘T  thirst !”  and  no  one  gave  Thee  a  drop  of  water — no 
one,  not  even  Thy  mother !  I  also,  dry  and  parched,  cry 
out,  “I  thirst !”  but  no  one  offers  me  a  drop — no  one,  not 
even  my  mother!  The  rings  cut  deep  into  my  wrists,  but, 
sweet  Saviour,  iron  nails  were  driven  into  ^  Thy  tender 
hands.  Already  it  is  night  again !  Abide  with  me,  dear 
Saviour,  and  thou,  sweet  Mother  of  God !  My  heart  is  in 
peace  and  soon  will  be  at  rest.  In  spirit  I  shall  be  at  home 
once  more,  a  little  child,  saying  my  evening  hymn  at 
mother’s  knee. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


21 


(Slowly)  : 

“Jesus,  gentle  Shepherd,  hear  me, 

Bless  Thy  little  lamb  to-night; 

In  the  darkness  be  Thou  near  me. 

Keep  me  safe  ’til  morning  light; 

Let  my  sins  be  all  forgiven, 

Bless  the  friends  I  love  so  well. 

Take  us  all  at  length  to  heaven, 

Happy  dell,  with  Thee  to  dwell.” 

Everyone,  Jesus,  great  and  small,  bless  them,  Jesus, 
bless  them  all !  Good-night,  Blessed  Mother !  Good-night, 
Maria!  [Bows  her  head  in  sleep.] 

[Faintly  is  heard  the  first  verse  of  the  Angels’  Slumber 
Song;  the  sound  gradually  approaches,  and  the  second 
verse  is  heard  quite  near.] 

Sleep,  dearest  one. 

Sleep,  dearest  one, 

The  angels  watch 
O’er  thee  shall  keep. 

Yes,  sweetly  sleep. 

Awaken  not; 

In  peace  shall  rest 
Thy  weary  head; 

Hallow’d  will  be  ^ 

This  dreary  spot. 

Blest  Mary’ll  come 
As  thou  hast  said.  " 

Sleep,  dearest  one, 

Angels  watch  o’er  thee — angels  watch. 

(Second  verse.) 

Sleep,  dearest  one. 

Sleep,  dearest  one. 

The  angels  watch 
O’er  thee  shall  keep. 

Still  hold  thee  fast 
The  iron  bands. 

Soon  they’ll  be  loosed 
By  angels’  hands. 

The  Virgin  fair 
Will  lead  thee  home ; 

Heard  is  thy  prayer, 

Maria  blest  will  claim  her  own. 

Sleep,  dearest  one, 

Angels  watch  o’er  thee — angels  watcKg 


22 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


[Toward  the  end  of  the  second  verse  light  is  seen  from 
the  space  beyond  the  grating ;  soon  the  light  shines  into  the 
dungeon,  and  the  two  angels  with  lighted  tapers  appear  at 
the  gate,  followed  by  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  angels  break 
the  bolt  and  open  the  gate,  standing  one  at  either  side. 
The  Blessed  Virgin  passes  between  them  and  enters  the 
dungeon ;  the  angels  follow  and  hold  their  tapers  over 
Adelheid’s  couch.  The  Blessed  Virgin  looks  upon  her  with 
love  and  sympathy,  and,  as  the  angels  cease  their  song, 
Sp03,lcsJ  *  ''' 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  Poor  child !  Poor  child !  How 
peacefully  she  sleeps  despite  her  wretchedness ! 

ADELHEID  [speaking  in  her  sleep].  My  heart — be¬ 
longs — to  Maria ! 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  And  gladly,  my  child,  does  Maria 
give  her  heart  to  you.y  Come,  angels,  and  loosen  my  Adel- 
^id^chains.  Be  careful  lest  you  awaken  her. 

[The  angels  unfasten  Adelheid’s  hands  from  the  wall, 
though  the  chain  remains  on  her  arms.  Adelheid  remains 
asleep;  her  hands  fall  to  her  sides.] 

BLESSED  VIRGIN.  Now  bring  the  goblet  of  sweet 
wine  to  refresh  the  little  sufferer.  [The  angels  put  the 
goblet  to  Adelheid’s  mouth,  who  drinks,  though  still  sleep¬ 
ing.] 

BLESSED  VIRGIN  [goes  to  Adelheid  and  takes  her 
hand,  upon  which  Adelheid  arises].  Come,  little  martyr, 
Mary’s  noble  child,  enough  hast  thou  suffered.  Thou  shalt " 
by  my  hand  be  returned  to  home  and  mother. 

[The  angels  again  begin  their  Slumber  Song,  going  in 
advance  with  their  tapers.  The  Blessed  Virgin  follows, 
gently  leading  the  sleeping  Adelheid.  They  pass  out  of 
the  gate,  the  light  disappears  and  the  song  becomes  gradu¬ 
ally  fainter.  The  scene  at  the  back  of  the  stage  is  then 
shifted  and  behind  it  appears  the  sea;  upon  it  slowly  pass¬ 
es  from  the  right  toward  the  left  a  little  ship  of  white  and . 
gold :  at  either  end  sits  an  angel ;  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  in 
the  centre,  Adelheid  at  her  feet  with  her  head  in  the  Blessed 
Virgin’s  lap.  The  song  softly  continues.  Should  this  last 
scene  not  be  possible  to  arrange,  the  curtain  may  fall  after 
the  Blessed  Virgin  and  Adelheid  leave  the  dungeon.] 


Act  IV. 

The  scene  as  in  Act  II.,  the  woods  surrounding  the 
chapel.  Bertha  and  the  other  girls  carrying  scythes. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


23 


BERTHA  [to  the  others,  pointing  to  the  right].  Yonder 
you  are  to  begin  your  work.  I  shall  accompany  you,  the 
better  to  show  the  place. 

CHRISTINA.  Oh,  we  know  just  where  it  is.  It’s  the 
field  the  Countess  bought  about  two  years  ago,  paying 
three  times  the  value,  in  order  to  save  the  owner  from  his 
creditors. 

AGNES.  It  was  decided  some  time  since  where  to¬ 
day’s  work  was  to  be  begun.  We  have  not  forgotten. 

BERTHA.  Nevertheless  let  me  descend  into  the  valley 
with  you ;  it  is  so  lonely  here  and  everything  reminds  me  of 
Adelheid. 

CHRISTINA.  Our  hearts  are  also  sad  at  thought  of 
her. 

BERTHA.  I  dare  not  remain  alone,  my  imagination 
paints  such  dreadful  pictures  of  Adelheid’s  fate — perhaps 
the  worst  has  already  happened — the  worst !  Oh !  away 
'“with  these  thoughts ;  they  tear  my  heart  to  pieces ! 

CHRISTINA.  Come  with  us.  From  the  depth  of  our 
hearts  have  we  prayed  for  her — ’tis  all  that  we  can  do. 
Vain  grief  will  only  unfit  us  for  our  work.  Drive  back  sad 
thoughts  with  a  glance  toward  heaven. 

BERTHA.  It  does  indeed  take  strength  to  drive  back 
the  endless  tears.  Deep  within  my  soul  have  I  impressed 
my  grief,  but  the  reins  are  no  stronger  than  a  thread ;  the 
least  pull  and  they  snap,  allowing  my  grief  to  pour  itself 
out,  taking  from  me  all  pleasure  in  life. 

CHRISTINA.  Cheer  up!  Away  with  vain  brooding! 
Take  pleasure  in  the  bright  sunshine,  the  green  fields. 
God  can  find  our  Adelheid  as  well  in  the  dungeon  as  in  the 
palace.  Come,  gjrls,  let’s  sing  our  harvest  song !  Away 
with  grief,  trust  in  God,  be  light  of  heart ! 

ALL.  Yes,  yes,  let  us  sing!  [Sing]  :  * 


Then  with  the  sun’s  first  awakening  ray, 

Merrily,  merrily  we  shall  descend 
Down  in  the  valley,  so  fresh  and  so  green ; 

Swinging  bright  sickles,  our  footsteps  we’ll  wend 
To  grassy  fields,  where  we’ll  reap,  where  we’ll  glean, 
And  ne’er  a  green  blade  shall  we  spare  this  day — 

To  grassy  fields,  where  we’ll  reap,  where  we’ll  glean. 
And  ne’er  a  green  blade  shall  we  spare  this  day. 
When,  gay  lasses,  the  sweet  grass  we  have  mown. 

Our  swishing  sickles  we’ll  no  longer  ply ; 

Fragrant  sheaves  we’ll  gather  and  toss  in  the  sun — 
When  the  sun  is  sinking,  scented  hay  is  dry. 

Vesper  bells  are  ringing,  our  work  is  done, 


24 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


To  the  angels’  Ave  we  shall  join  our  own; 

Maria,  bless  thy  children,  bless  thine  own ! 

To  the  angels’  Ave  we  shall  join  our  own, 

Maria,  bless  thy  children,  bless  thine  own ! 

Now,  my  dear  Bertha,  you  are  in  cheerful  mood  once 
more.  Your  voice  rang  out  as  clear  and  fresh  as  ever. 

BERTHA.  With  the  cheerful  song  my  spirits  rose,  but 
now  that  it  is  ended  they  sink  again. 

CHRISTINA.  You  will  allow  your  head  to  droop 
again!  Come  quickly  to  work;  you  must  help  us!  A 
merry  song  and  diligent,  skilful  fingers — these  will  be  the 
best  medicines  for  grief  and  weary  hearts.  Come,  come, 
dear  Bertha ! 

BERTHA.  I  shall  follow  you  later.  [Exit  all;  Bertha 
remains  for  a  while  engrossed  in  thought,  then  slowly  fol¬ 
lows.] 

[Behind  the  scene  the  third  verse  of  the  Slumber  Song 
is  heard;  as  it  grows  louder  the  angels  are  seen  approach¬ 
ing,  carrying  their  lights,  slowly  followed  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin  with  her  arm  supporting  the  still  sleeping  Adelheid. 
The  Blessed  Virgin  leads  Adelheid  to  the  stone  seat,  upon 
which  she  sinks ;  one  of  the  angels  brings  from  the  chapel 
a  green  cushion  and  gently  places  it  under  Adelheid’s  head. 
The  angels  then  return  to  the  chapel,  drawing  aside  the 
curtain  and  standing  on  either  side  the  entrance  while  the 
Blessed  Virgin  enters ;  they  then  let  the  curtain  fall,  dis¬ 
appearing  themselves  into  the  chapel.  The  Slumber  Song 
continues  until  after  the  entrance  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and 
the  angels  into  the  chapel.] 

(Third  Verse.) 

angels’  slumber  song. 

Sleep,  dearest  one, 

Sleep,  dearest  one. 

The  angels  watch 
O’er  thee  shall  keep ; 

Thine  eyes  did  close 
In  dungeon  drear. 

But  thou  wilt  wake 
With  loved  ones  near. 

For  Mary’s  sake 
Thou  much  didst  bear, 

But  she  has  heard 
Thy  trusting  prayer. 

Sleep,  dearest  one. 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


25 


Sleep,  dearest  one, 

Angels  watch  thee~angels  watch. 

[Bertha  appears  from  the  right,  her  head  bowed  in  grief. 
She  lifts  it  and  begins  to  speak,  not  noticing  the  sleeping 
Adelheid.] 

BERTHA.  With  every  hour  of  the  day  my  grief  in¬ 
creases.  It  was  not  in  the  right  way  that  I  sought  for  con¬ 
solation  and  peace  of  heart.  The  girls  mean  well,  but  sad¬ 
ness  has  taken  too  firm  a  root  within  my  heart,  and  the 
more  forcibly  I  try  to  drive  it  from  me  the  deeper  it  seems 
to  enter  my  soul.  Every  smile  seems  a  reproach,  a  poi¬ 
soned  dart  seems  every  joyous  word.  Creatures  cannot 
help  me  in  my  sorrow ;  there  is  but  one  relief :  the  call  to 
heaven!  Yes,  in  this  quiet,  peaceful  spot  will  I  pray — here 
— [turns  toward  the  chapel  and  sees  Adelheid] — Oh,  my 
Saviour  I  What  spirit  is  this  ?  Does  it  appear  to  remind 
me  of  my  forsaken  friend?  A  farewell  from  the  already 
glorified  martyr  I  Beautiful,  tender  image  of  my  beloved 
Adelheid,  I  am  true  to  you — I  pray  for  you !  How  peace¬ 
fully  she  sleeps  !  How  naturally !  It  can  be  no  vision — no 
spirit!  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  I  am  afraid!  I  must 
call  the  others.  [Exit.] 

[As  Bertha  disappears  the  third  verse  of  the  Slumber 
Song  of  the  angels  is  again  faintly  heard,  ceasing  as  the 
maidens  appear.] 

BERTHA  [enters  with  several  of  the  girls,  the  others 
appearing  by  degrees  until  all  are  on  the  stage].  See  now 
for  yourselves  what  I  cannot  understand — what  you  will 
not  believe ! 

CHRISTINA  [astounded].  It  is  indeed  the  face  and 
form  of  Adelheid ! 

AGNES.  It  must  be  Adelheid !  But  how  explain  the 
seeming  miracle  ? 

BERTHA.  Awe-inspiring  is  to  me  the  vision,  for  a 
spirit  it  must  be ! 

CHRISTINA.  No,  no,  Bertha.  It  is  but  one  of  the 
secrets  of  God’s  mercy. 

AGNES.  Why  should  we  take  fright?  We  suddenly 
find  Adelheid  again  at  Mary’s  feet.  Strange  indeed  seems 
the  appearance,  but  with  what  joy  should  it  not  fill  our 
breasts. 

BERTHA.  I  cannot  yet  grasp  the  miracle.  It  alarms 
me  to  suddenly  find  all  where  it  seemed  impossible  to  hope 
for,  to  expect  anything. 

CHRISTINA.  Be  not  troubled,  but  receive  the  joy 
that  God  has  sent.  A  miracle  has  been  performed. 


26 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


BERTHA.  Yes,  a  miracle!  Through  God’s  mercy! 
Through  the  prayers  of  our  Heavenly  Mother !  I  will  no 
longer  fear,  but  make  known  the  wonder — first  to  the  heart¬ 
broken  mother  and  then  to  all  the  world. 

CHRISTINA.  Yes,  let  us  hasten  to  the  Countess  Hil- 
degard.  Never  yet  did  she  receive  such  joyful  tidings. 

AGNES.  Countess  Hildegard  comes  herself  to  seek  the 
joyous  information.  Yonder  she  comes  with  her  sister! 

BERTHA.  Can  she  bear  it? 

CHRISTINA.  She  bore  the  grief,  the  appalling  grief. 
She  will  not  break  down  under  this  marvelous  joy. 

[Hildegard  and  Elizabeth  appear  from  the  left.] 

BERTHA  [hastening  to  meet  them].  Countess,  dear 
Countess,  come  quickly !  Faster  yet  have  traveled  wonder 
and  joy ! 

HILDEGARD.  The  quick  step  is  the  step  of  joy;  that 
step,  Bertha,  I  have  lost  forever ! 

BERTHA.  No,  no,  not  forever,  dearest  Countess - 

ELIZABETH.  Your  words,  your  ways,  seem  most 
strange ! 

BERTHA.  They  could  not  be  otherwise  at  such  a 
time  [pointing  to  Adelheid]. 

HILDEGARD  [at  first  speechless  with  amazement,  then 
passing  her  hand  across  her  forehead].  My  eyes  are  open, 
my  sight  is  clear.  I  do  not  wander  in  my  sleep !  I  recog¬ 
nize  all  about  me — and  yet — it  is  impossible  ! 

ELIZABETH.  Do  miracles  still  take  place?  Then  no 
trifling  one  can  this  be  called ! 

BERTHA.  Believe  what  your  eyes  show  you,  dearest 
Countess.  In  gentle,  peaceful  slumber  you  find  again  your 
daughter — your  Adelheid  ! 

HILDEGARD.  Who  was  buried  in  a  distant  dungeon — 
who  was  robbed  from  her  mother’s  breast ! 

ELIZABETH.  The  chains  are  yet  fastened  to  her 
hands ! 

HILDEGARD  [to  the  girls].  You  also  know  ’tis  Adel¬ 
heid?  You  also  see  my  child? 

ALL.  Most  certainly,  dear  Countess  ! 

BERTHA.  Doubt  no  longer  ! 

ELIZABETH.  I  shall  awaken  her. 

HILDEGARD.  Leave  to  the  mother  that  sweet  duty! 
[Stoops  over  Adelheid  and  gently  touches  her.]  Adel¬ 
heid — my  Adelheid ! 

ADELHEID  [opens  her  eyes  and  fastens  them  on  Hilde¬ 
gard,  lifts  her  head,  but  still  remains  seated,  gazing  won- 
deringly  about  her.]  My  mother!  Oh,  what  a  beautiful 
dream ! 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


27 


HILDEGARD.  It  is  no  dream !  My  chil(i !  My  child ! 

ADELHEID  [looking  wonderingly  at  Hildegard].  No 
<iream  !  What  then  ?  Am  I  in  heaven  ? 

HILDEGARD.  No,  but  in  your  earthly  home  once 
more.  Look  about  you  and  see  the  dear  familiar  scenes. 

ADELHEID  [stands  up  and  looks  about  her].  Then  I 
am  again  with  you,  my  dear,  dear  mother — with  you,  and 
still  alive!  Can  it  be!  Here  is  the  beloved  woodland 
chapel !  There  the  castle !  Here  Bertha,  Aunt  Eliza¬ 
beth,  and  all  the  maidens  of  our  household  ! 

HILDEGARD.  Come,  my  child,  grasp  your  mother’s 
hand ;  rest  once  more  upon  your  mother’s  breast !  [Goes 
to  Adelheid  and  takes  her  hands.] 

ADELHEID.  Again  the  loving  glance  of  my  mother’s 
eye,  the  sound  of  her  sweet  voice,  the  touch  of  her  dear 
hand !  I  am  at  home — at  home  with  all  my  loved  ones ! 

HILDEGARD.  But  whence  you  came  and  how  is  a  se¬ 
cret  of  God’s  mercy. 

ADELHEID  [slowly  and  thoughtfully].  Whence  I 
came? — how?  Wait!  I  cannot  yet  think  clearly.  A  dun¬ 
geon — a  cavern  in  the  rock — the  queen  in  a  fury — and  then 
the  chains — these  chains — too  well  I  know  them — chained 
to  the  stone  wall — fainting  from  hunger — then  a  light — the 
light  of  heaven  it  seemed — and  a  tall  maiden  of  wonderful 
beauty  and  gentleness — and  angels!  Yes,  mother,  they 
brought  me  here — like  in  a  dream  it  passed.  It  was  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  mother,  our  Heavenly  Queen,  just  as  in 
our  chapel  here.  Our  Virgin  Mother  appeared  to  me.  By 
her  side  I  journeyed  home. 

HILDEGARD.  The  Blessed  Virgin  led  you  home? 

ADELHEID.  Yes,  mother.  Clearly  now  I  remember 
all  that  passed.  I  returned,  led  by  the  Blessed  Virgin’s 
hand,  watched  by  her  loving  eye.  Oh,  let  me  first  of  all  give 
thanks  to  our  Virgin  Queen ! 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  my  child,  praised  be  forever  Maria 
the  Mother  of  all  Mercy ! 

ADELHEID  [steps  to  the  entrance  of  the  chapel  and 
draws  aside  the  curtain.  The  Blessed  Virgin  is  seen  as 
before,  seated  on  her  throne.  Adelheid  kneeling].  Oh, 
most  gentle  Queen  of  Heavei^!  [turning  to  those  about 
her.]  Mother,  what  has  happened?  Where  is  the  Infant 
Jesus?  Who  has  robbed  the  Virgin  Mother  of  her  child? 

HILDEGARD.  The  Infant  Jesus  is  in  my  custody  in 
the  castle.  I  took  the  Christ  Child  from  His  mother. 

ADELHEID  [rising].  You?  Mother! 

HILDEGARD.  Yes,  I  did  it,  Adelheid.  I  dared  to  do 


28 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


it  when  my  heart  was  broken  at  your  loss.  When  you  did 
not  return  with  the  other  maidens — when  I  heard  all  that 
had  happened — I  called  upon  the  Queen  of  Heaven  for 
help,  for  comfort !  In  the  madness  of  my  grief  I  over¬ 
stepped  all  bounds  and  wished  to  force  the  Virgin  Mother 
to  stand  by  me.  I  took  the  precious  Babe  from  her  arms,^ 
saying:  “Not  until  rny  Adelheid  is  returned  to  me  shall 
the  Infant  Saviour  be  returned  to  thee. 

ADELHEID.  The  Blessed  Virgin  returned  me  to  you, 
therefore  she  cannot  be  angry. 

HILDEGARD.  I  must  not  delay.  With  the  swiftness 
of  the  wind  will  I  mount  the  hill  to  the  castle  and  bring 
back  the  Holy  Babe  to  His  Virgin  Mother.  Accompany 
me,  all  of  you — all !  You  also,  my  child  ! 

ADELHEID.  Not,  dear  mother,  may  I  leave  this  spot, 
or  cross  the  threshold  of  my  home,  until  you  have  re¬ 
deemed  me— until  the  Blessed  Mother  is  again  in  posses¬ 
sion  of  her  Child.  Here  shall  I  remain  and  wait  for  you, 
for  I  am  in  pledge  to  our  Heavenly  Mother,  whom  you 
robbed  of  her  Divine  Son. 

HILDEGARD.  You  are  right,  my  child.  Noble,  hon¬ 
orable  are  your  thoughts !  Remain  here  until  I  have  made 
the  exchange  to  our  sweet  Mother.  Let  the  others  follow 
me.  In  triumphant  procession  shall  the  Infant  King  re¬ 
turn.  What  a  triumph  for  the  love  eternal  of  a  mother’s 
heart!  [Exit  all  but  Adelheid.] 

ADELHEID  [kneels  before  the  open  chapel].  Oh,  were 
I  but  a  little  worthy  to  be  thy  beloved  child,  then  I  should 
not  be  in  such  haste  to  make  the  exchange.  How  happy 
am  I  in  the  thought  that  for  one  night  at  least  I  was  able 
to  console  thee  in  some  measure  for  the  loss  of  thy  Blessed 
Babe.  That  for  one  night  no  one  was  with  thee  but  thy 
Adelheid.  Oh,  what  a  night  it  was — the  dread,  the  tor¬ 
ture,  overcome  by  thy  love ;  death  vanquished  by  thy 
mercy.  But  yesterday  my  evening  hymn  was  said  in  a 
strange,  uncivilized  land,  from  the  dungeon’s  depths  where 
I  was  chained — and  to-day  I  On  this  bright  morning  in 
our  peaceful  wood  I  kneel  giving. thanks  to  the  Mother  of 
all  Mercy.  With  a  greeting  to  thee,  Maria,  in  the  gloom 
of  my  prison  cave,  I  closed  my  eyes.  They  opened  to  look 
upon  the  familiar  surroundings  of  my  well-beloved  home, 
and  my  first  morning  greeting  is  again  to  thee,  Maria ! 

Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace, 

The  Lord  is  with  thee. 

Blessed  art  thou  among  women, 

And  blessed  is  the  fruit  of  thy  womb,  Jesus. 


s 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


29 


Holy  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us 
Sinners  now,  and  at  the  hour  of  our  deaths. 

Amen. 

[Softly  the  first  verse  of  the  following  song  is  heard;  as 
it  ends  the  procession  appears] : 

(First.) 

Through  the  portal  of  the  castle 
Carry  now  the  Infant  King, 

To  the  peaceful  woodland  chapel 
Back  the  Christ  Child  we  shall  bring. 

[The  maidens  come  in  slowly,  two  by  two,  with  white 
veils  and  wreaths  of  flowers  on  their  heads.  After  them 
walks  Hildegard  carrying  the  Divine  Child  on  her  arm, 
over  which  is  thrown  the  white  linen  scarf.  On  either  side 
of  Hildegard  walk  the  two  angels,  carrying  lighted  tapers. 
Adelheid  arises  and  steps  to  one  side.  When  the  proces¬ 
sion  appears  on  the  stage  the  second  verse  is  heard.] 

(Second.) 

We  shall  hasten,  mother  mild, 

To  return  our  precious  guest — 

‘  Thy  gentle  Saviour,  thy  dear  Child, 

Sweet  pledge  of  faith  in  our  quest. 

[During  the  song  Hildegard  places  the  Infant  Jesus  again 
on  the  Blessed  Virgin’s  knee;  at  the  same  moment  the 
chains  fall  from  Adelheid’s  hands,  and  Hildegard  and 
Adelheid  kneel  together  in  the  middle,  but  so  placed  that 
one  can  see  into  the  chapel ;  the  others  then  separate  and 
kneel  on  either  side,  Elizabeth  a  little  to  the  front  of  the 
others.] 

HILDEGARD.  Now  only,  O  most  Blessed  Mother, 
can  I  truly  rejoice  in  the  return  of  my  Adelheid.  I  would 
be  frightened  at  my  daring  hadst  thou  in  thy  gentle  mercy 
not  already  pardoned  my  rash  act.  I  dare  hope  for  com¬ 
plete  forgiveness,  for  thou  didst  understand  the  poor 
mother’s  grief.  My  child  was  also  thine !  Thou  art  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  the  queen  of  all  the  angels.  I  am  thy 
weak,  sinful,  though  loving,  handmaid.  Forgive  and  bless 
me.  Remember,  Maria,  we  are  both  mothers ! 

ELIZABETH.  Thou  hast  conquered  my  heart,  sweet 
mother;  its  love  is  henceforth  thine.  Thou  art  all  fair! 


30 


TWO  MOTHERS. 


Oh,  Virgin  Blest,  thou  art  the  joy  of  thy  children  who 
trust  in  thee !  q 

ADELHEID.  Never  yet,  O  most  tender-hearted  Vir¬ 
gin  Mary,  hath  the  ear  heard  that  he  who  ran  to  thee  for 
refuge  was  forsaken  of  God.  Thy  child  I  am,  O  Mother 
Mary,  mother  of  all  love,  my  heart  is  thine,  Maria ! 

• 

Now  sounds  the  morning  bell  so  clear, 

,  Heaven-wafted  angels’  greetings  peal 
On  wings  of  sound  to  Maria  dear — 

Oh,  hear  our  Ave  as  we  kneel. 

[The  Angelus  bell  is  heard  during  the  last  verse  and  a 
bright  light  shines  upon  the  kneeling  group.] 

END. 

[The  MUSIC  of  the  songs  in  this  drama  may  he  had,  with 
Piano  Accompaniment,  from  the  publishers.  For¬ 
warded  free  by  mail  upon  receipt  of  25  cents.^ 


7 


